


Not Your Average Lady

by testosterone_tea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Time, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Gender Issues, Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock Gift Exchange, M/M, Other, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:47:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2113950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/testosterone_tea/pseuds/testosterone_tea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is genderfluid, but doesn't want anyone else to know. One day, they're outed to the world by an incident with two hooligans that spiraled out of control. It's Sherlock's worst nightmare: now everyone knows and they're faced with explaining everything to people who may or may not fully understand the most important aspect in Sherlock's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Riot Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daydraws](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=daydraws).



> This work was created for the johnlockgift exchange on Tumblr for [daydraws](http://daydraws.tumblr.com)
> 
> This person asked for genderfluid!Sherlock, and through some twist of fate, they ended up with a genderfluid author.
> 
> I know a lot of people really like the idea of cute Sherlock in a cute outfit with adoring John, but I've included a lot of angst right at the beginning, because being trans* isn't fun and games, especially for dmab trans* people.
> 
> Also, I know pronouns are tough, but Sherlock uses "they/their" pronouns the entire time. So try to bear with them. Also, if you see any instances where I've messed up and called them "him" in this particular piece, please tell me, and I'll fix it.

Sherlock woke up with a sharp cry, jerking out of sleep with an abrupt start. For a few moments, they lay there, shaking and trying not to cry in case John heard them.

Another nightmare.

Sherlock willed their breathing to calm back down, but a feeling of utter wrongness still lingered in their gut. Sherlock knew enough by now about how this worked. Sleep was pointless right now. Either this sick feeling rushing through them would keep them awake, or they would just have another nightmare to look forward to upon the return of sleep.

They got up, untangled themselves from the bedsheets, and paused.

John was asleep.

They needed this right now. It wouldn't make the feeling go away entirely, but it might help. Sherlock dug into the bottom of their closet and found what they were looking for.

It was a pair of cotton pyjama bottoms, pastel blue, with little bees and flowers all over them, a loose t-shirt, and a lavender dressing gown.

Sherlock knew that it was all in their head, all of these terrible feelings. That the thing that was making it feel better was also all in their head. Gender identity versus gender expression, feminine clothing that didn't necessarily make one female, all of those arguments on societal pressure and values.

They still felt better wearing these feminine clothes.

It was comfortable clothing, the type of thing similar to the things Sherlock found to wear in the men's section of the store. A woman might wear this on a cold day curled up with a mug of tea, or if they were sick and wanted to feel less horrible. Sherlock wore it, curled up in it, and felt just a bit less like taking a knife to their own skin. Or to go back to the cocaine.

Another thing that helped was distraction. An experiment. John always heard them doing experiments at night and never thought it odd, so it would be perfectly safe.

They quickly started up a new project, trying to immerse themselves as much as possible. Forget that feeling, the one that made them want to curl up and shrivel into nothing. Forget the crawling feeling, like there were foreign bodies, tumors, growths sprouting off them, a cancer that needed to be removed. Forget that empty feeling inside, like they were missing essential body parts and might die without them.

Sherlock was so determined to concentrate on nothing but the experiment that they didn't notice the approach of dawn. They didn't hear the noises of the city start up, the chatter of its inhabitants going about their daily rituals. That included one John Watson, getting up and ready for work.

"You're still up?" John said, coming into the kitchen to make tea.

Sherlock made a noise, too busy concentrating to register that John was there next to them.

"Sherlock? Do you want some tea? Sherlock!"

A brush of John's hand on their arm awakened them to his presence. Sherlock blinked several times in surprise, which turned to sudden horror. Bee pyjamas. Lavender dressing gown.

"I thought you went to sleep last night," John said.

"I did," Sherlock said, and looked away. "I woke up again."

"At least eat some toast," John said. "I'll make some, okay?"

Sherlock watched in trepidation as John toodled around the kitchen, making tea and toast, and humming softly. He hadn't made one comment about Sherlock's clothing style. Perhaps their ever-unobservent John hadn't even noticed.

Sherlock ate the toast that John made them, and wrapped their hands around the mug of tea John presented them with, warmed more by the gesture than by the beverage itself.

When John left for work, Sherlock decided it was definitely a Girl day.

They only felt this way about half the time, which was something of a blessing, but also something of a curse. Forever being between spaces made for a very uncomfortable sort of life.

Sherlock climbed in the shower, already planning an outfit for the day.

Sherlock knew that gender expression didn't define gender identity, knew it so well, because they chanted it like a mantra in their head on days when they had to wear masculine clothes in public, to remind themselves they could still be a woman. But no one would ever read Sherlock as female when they dressed as they usually did.

Which was why on Girl days, when the dysphoria was especially bad and they needed just one person to call them "her," for once, they would dress up as a woman and go out walking somewhere in public.

They knew that they didn't really pass most of the time. It was hard with their body type. Also, their voice was far too low to ever be taken as feminine. But, quite a lot of Londoners were too polite to point this out, at least to their face.

Sherlock climbed out of the shower and loosely toweled off their hair. It was different from styling their hair when presenting as masculine. Sherlock put a lot more effort into this. It took a long time to meticulously straighten all their hair, apply hot rollers and then put hair spray in to keep the shape of the waves in their hair, but it was well worth the effort.

No one from the Work ever knew that Sherlock wasn't all that they appeared to be. Sherlock kept it a secret. It didn't matter to them what a stranger thought of their lifestyle choices. But if it would interfere with the Work, then revealing their true nature was not in the cards.

It would interfere, Sherlock had decided a long time ago.

No one took them seriously when everyone thought they were making it all up, or that it was all in their head. It was bad enough that most of them knew they were a cocaine addict, and it would get infinitely worse if everyone knew the reason why. They could just imagine the look on Donovan and Anderson's faces if they knew the truth.

People were cruel. They liked to make fun of others based on gender stereotypes.

Sherlock knew for a fact that with the way they looked, it would be best to try for an androgynous look. They were tall, with striking features. If they wore clothes that were close to the type of thing they wore when presenting as male, it might work better when it came to passing.

But Sherlock liked the clothes in the feminine side of the store. They liked the flowy shirts and skirt, the lace and flowers, the make-up and the cute shoes. They especially liked the cute knickers. If Sherlock was being quite honest, even male Sherlock liked cute knickers, which was everything to do with expression and nothing to do with identity.

Society was so complicated, and it was complicated in a way that made Sherlock's head spin.

Next came make-up, which was half to look pretty and half to hide Sherlock's masculine features. They had very sharp cheekbones and narrow features that could be softened using different shades of foundation.

Making their eyes pop was Sherlock's favourite part of the transformation. Sherlock liked their eyes, and their undefinable quality. Sherlock always had a choice about what colours to use, because there was always a different hue to bring out.

Today it was green. Sherlock blinked at themselves in the mirror and then returned to the bedroom for their final transformation.

Sherlock didn't want to be afraid to be tall for a woman. Six feet was very tall for a woman, and one of the things that bothered Sherlock the most is that they liked heeled boots. They didn't really like flats, because they emphasized the fact that Sherlock had large feet. But heels made their feet look sleek and dangerous.

Sherlock had a secret dream that they could dress up like one of the femme fatales from John's silly action movie flicks and look amazing.

Did John want that? He watched an awful lot of terrible action movies that had girls like that, all sharp outfits and even sharper skills. Sherlock wasn't really like that at all. 

The mirror showed Sherlock their own body in full, nude all the way down. Sherlock didn't understand how, but even though the body in the reflection was male, Sherlock still thought they looked feminine. They were seeing double, their male body overlaid with the sense of being female. It was strange and unnerving.

Sherlock had taught themselves how to put on a bra. It had been difficult in the beginning, but by now, Sherlock had the hang of it. They had little insertable cups and a push-up bra to make it look like they had a figure.

It didn't really look like it when they were wearing masculine clothes, but Sherlock had quite wide shoulders. They looked tall and thin in dapper suits, but their frame was undeniably masculine, especially when Sherlock was wearing clothing designed for the female form.

Sherlock dug through their closet and wished they had someone to go shopping with, someone who wouldn't laugh at Sherlock or think they were strange.

People who didn't think Sherlock was strange were few and far between, and that was when Sherlock was presenting as masculine.

Sherlock sighed quietly and pulled a plum-coloured shirt over their shoulders. It has a high waist and was made of a loose material. Next went on a pair of black tights, a black pencil skirt and a light grey cardigan with flowing, draping folds.

Finally, Sherlock drew out a pair of tall, leather, buckled boots from the back of their closet.

With their outfit complete, Sherlock contemplated it in the mirror. They didn't understand why, but when they looked at their reflection, they saw a woman. And it didn't matter at all that no one else thought the same thing.

Maybe they weren't beautiful. 

Being beautiful wasn't the point of all this. The point was finally feeling _right_.

Sherlock tried to choose an area where they were unlikely to run into people they knew. They couldn't predict it perfectly, but it was close enough. Besides, no one would be looking for Sherlock in a short skirt and high boots.

Except maybe Mycroft, but Mycroft was the only one that knew and didn't care. He treated Sherlock the same either way: like a baby sibling that needed to be looked after, no matter how much Sherlock was adamant they didn't need it.

They left the flat, and as always, felt a little bit strange walking around out in public dressed like this. It had taken ages to work up the courage to even step out of doors.

They always managed to sneak past Mrs. Hudson as well, even though they knew for a fact Mrs. Hudson would understand. Mrs. Hudson was the best at understanding hard things like this. It was just that Mrs. Hudson knew that their biology didn't match their presentation. Knew them.

Walking down the street in heeled boots was one of the best feelings in the world. They felt powerful in a different way than when they were deducing crime scenes. Sherlock didn't know why more people didn't wear heeled boots. They were a marvel.

Their curls bounced more noticeable with their hair styled like this. The effect was very pleasing.

Silly men, thinking girls dressed for them.

Sherlock liked their outfit, and didn't care if anyone else liked it or not.

"Oy, look at the legs on that one!" someone behind them said, and whistled.

Sherlock walked faster.

"Hey, come back sweetheart, I was only trying to pay you a compliment," the man continued, and Sherlock felt the presence of someone behind them just before a hand closed around their wrist.

"Sexual harassment isn't a compliment," Sherlock hissed angrily, pulling their wrist back toward them.

"Ooh, you got a tranny," the first idiot's friend chortled from further back.

The man who had grabbed Sherlock's wrist stepped back as if he'd been burned, and Sherlock rolled their eyes. Great, not just misogynistic pigs, but transphobic arsewipes as well.

"As if I'd ever hit on a freak like that," he said, face turning a mottled red colour.

"You just were," Sherlock said. "Or what passes as 'hitting on' among brainless hooligans."

"Was not!" the man shouted, getting louder. "You're a faggot."

"Technically, a non-binary individual that is attracted to men can't be classified as homosexual," Sherlock started to say.

"Tranny!" the man yelled again, and tried to hit them.

Unfortunately for him, Sherlock had spent a good deal of time learning krav maga. Also unfortunately for him, krav maga is not a form of martial art meant to leave behind the least amount of harm possible, but the most. There was no gentle way of taking someone down, or a method to lessen the injury. Krav maga operated on the assumption that one wanted to take out as many enemies as possible and leave them behind critically injured or incapacitated.

In this case, incapacitated meant a man ended up flat on his back in the middle of a crowded street with his arm broken in two places.

As he started screaming, his friend tried to attack Sherlock.

It turned out heeled boots were very good for cracking kneecaps.

The whole incident took about forty seconds.

Once they were down, Sherlock was on the phone to Lestrade before they'd thought it through.

"Lestrade," came the answer in a tired-sounding voice.

"Lestrade, I may have caused a bit of an incident."

"Sherlock, I can't deal with this right now."

"I may have broken someone's arm," Sherlock said.

Lestrade sighed from the other end. "Fine. You owe me."

"Yes," Sherlock said, knowing that Lestrade never collected on all the favours that Sherlock owed him by this point.

"Don't move, I'm coming now. Where are you?"

It was only after Sherlock hung up and surveyed the scene that they remembered that they weren't wearing the outfit that Lestrade would be expecting. Lestrade would see them.

Sherlock dithered between leaving the two idiots with broken bones here and running back to the flat to get changed, and staying here like Lestrade told them to.

That's when Sherlock noticed all the camera phones trained on them and the bodies groaning and crying at their feet.

It had only been about three minutes by that point, but Sherlock knew it was about a minute too late to do anything about it. No doubt there were already videos on the internet from numerous sources. That's the way the digital world worked these days. Three minutes, and now the world had access to Sherlock Holmes in a skirt.

It didn't even matter by this point. John was going to find out, even if he was technologically inept at the best of times.

Lestrade arrived very soon after that, along with an ambulance.

The ambulance attendants rushed to get their patients on board, while Lestrade looked around for Sherlock, clearly not seeing them in spite of the fact they were right in front of him. Sherlock didn't say anything, waiting.

Lestrade got out his phone, cursing, no doubt thinking Sherlock had gone off.

Sherlock considered actually leaving for a moment, before their phone started ringing, and Lestrade finally looked at them.

"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked, hesitantly.

Sherlock nodded.

"Come on then," Lestrade said, and Sherlock got into the squad car, not even making a token protest about having to ride with Lestrade.

When they got down to the Yard, Anthea was waiting in the lobby holding up a garment bag. She handed it to them wordlessly, and Sherlock went straight to the handicapped bathroom and locked the door.

Off came the skirt and boots and on went the trousers and Italian shoes. Sherlock buttoned up their purple shirt and sadly looked at themselves in the mirror, their made-up face looking back at them. Sherlock washed it all off a moment later.

Sherlock felt a bit tight inside, like they might start crying.

They went into Lestrade's office and waited for him to get back. 

Lestrade came in and heaved himself into his chair with a tired sigh. "They tried to press charges, but there's substantial amounts of evidence that you were acting in self-defense."

"I was," Sherlock said quietly.

"It helps a lot that their attack on you appears to be a hate crime," Lestrade continued in a heavy voice. "I know you like social experiments Sherlock, but can you please try not to cause so much trouble in public?"

"I was walking," Sherlock said, gritting their teeth. "Down the street."

"Yes, well –"

"I was minding my own business."

"For once."

"I didn't say anything to them," Sherlock said. "I try not to speak at all, when I'm dressed like that."

"Yes, that's the thing. You were dressed like a woman," Lestrade said.

"So what," Sherlock said. "Do you think I was trying to make people angry?"

"Yes," Lestrade said. "Well, not make them angry, incite a reaction."

"No," Sherlock said, wondering why they were even trying to explain. "Not this time."

"Well, what were you doing dressed as a woman? Was it a case?"

"No."

"I don't understand. If it wasn't an experiment, and it wasn't a case, what were you doing?" Lestrade exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

"See, there you go, getting angry, just like the men who attacked me," Sherlock spat, bristling. "The answer is obvious, but because it doesn't fit your image of me, you refuse to see it."

"You're a tranny."

"Tranny is an offensive word," Sherlock said coldly. "The word for what I am is trans. More specifically, non-binary trans. Even more specifically, genderfluid."

"Wait, so you were dressed like that because..."

"That's who I am," Sherlock said bitterly, looking at the floor. "That's me, half of the time, anyway. It's a state of gender that fluctuates between male and female, hence the term genderfluid."

Lestrade stared for a moment or two, and Sherlock became impatient.

"Am a being charged with anything?" Sherlock asked.

"No," Lestrade said. "We need to get a statement from you, if you want to press charges."

"I do."

"Then Sally will take your statement," Lestrade said, looking awkward.

Sherlock left.

Sally, for once, didn't make any strange or nasty comments. Sherlock explained in a flat, expressionless voice what happened, and she wrote it down dutifully. When they described their outfit, Sally didn't say a thing. Sally didn't look surprised when Sherlock told her what happened and their reaction to it.

"Were you trying to incite a reaction," Sally finally asked.

Sherlock was tired of that question.

"No," they snapped. "I was trying to feel a bit less like carving my insides open with a kitchen knife."

Sally nodded, and then asked them to sign their statement at the bottom. Reading over the report, Sherlock looked at the bottom, where Sally had asked the question. Instead of writing down their response, all she'd put was 'gender dysphoria.'

Of all the people who would understand what they were going through, why did it have to be Sally that didn't ask stupid questions or make thoughtless comments?

Sherlock went home after that, feeling a bit sick and defeated. It was raining by this point, and Sherlock realized they had forgotten their other clothes at the precinct. Sherlock usually didn't mind the rain, but it was ruining their carefully styled hair, and even though they were mostly wearing masculine clothing again, it was still upsetting, far more upsetting than it usually would be.

They walked up the stairs, didn't even bother taking their shoes off as they made a beeline for their room. 

"Sherlock?" John asked, half-standing and then stopping as he got a good look at their face.

Sherlock didn't stop, brushing past him.

"Sherlock, is something wrong?"

Sherlock went into their room, closed the door and collapsed on their bed, chest aching, and eyes finally overflowing. Sherlock took in a shaking breath and let out a wracking sob, burying their face in the quilt to try and muffle the sound.

Apparently they weren't successful, because a moment later, John rapped on the door.

"Sherlock?" he asked. "Can I come in?"

Sherlock sniffed and didn't answer.

Eventually, John eased the door open carefully and edged his way into the room. Sherlock curled up into a tighter ball on the bed, shaking.

"Hey, hey," John whispered, still coming closer, until he was right next to the bed. "Are you okay?"

Obviously Sherlock was not okay. John must have agreed, because he sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Sherlock's still-damp hair. Sherlock shuddered, and John got them around the shoulders and pulled Sherlock's upper body into his lap. Sherlock sniffed again and curled around John.

"There you are," John whispered and stroked their hair. "You'll be alright."

Sherlock's breathing began to calm down, and the tight ache in their chest started loosening. John stroked their hair until Sherlock fell asleep, wrapped up in the warm comfort of his arms.

OOooOO

Sherlock woke up the next morning with an aching head and sore, swollen eyes. John had pulled a blanket up over them and left sometime in the night. The creases in their blanket didn't tell Sherlock how long John had stayed, only that he had. Only the lack of John in the room told Sherlock he'd left eventually.

Feeling a little out of sorts, Sherlock crept out of the room hesitantly.

John was making tea. Of course he was. Tea fixed everything.

"Hey," John said softly. "There's toast and bacon on the table."

Sherlock lowered themselves awkwardly into a chair and sat there stiffly waiting for John to bring them tea. John would only talk when he was good and ready.

Sherlock hadn't really felt like trying to explain the night before, not when they'd already had to explain twice, and the prospect of explaining again in public court was imminent. After the whole thing with Lestrade, Sherlock wasn't sure how John would react.

Certainly, Lestrade had acted more positively than the goons he'd beat up.

There was something about straight men and their need to reaffirm their masculinity that made them uncomfortable with Sherlock's gender identity. They couldn't imagine wanting to be a woman sometimes, not when they knew in the back of their heads how much the world mistreated women.

"Are you going to tell me what upset you?" John asked, stirring his tea again.

Sherlock heaved a sigh and looked at John. What could they say? They were tired of trying to explain this to people who didn't want to understand what they meant.

"It was nothing, John," they said.

From the look on John's face, Sherlock could tell that he didn't believe them.

OOooOO

"Hey, here, I made you tea," John said, sliding his hand up the back of Sherlock's neck and into their riot of curls.

Sherlock jumped slightly, but accepted the tea in confusion.

Ever since the cuddling incident (Sherlock refused to call it the crying incident), John had started to touch them more and more. Sherlock didn't have many qualms over being in John's space and often invaded it without provocation, but John was doing this deliberately.

Sherlock didn't mind, they just wanted to know why. 

So Sherlock asked, because Sherlock was very straightforward in their reasoning, and wished that everyone else would be, too.

"I knew that you didn't have a problem with casual touching," John said. "I just didn't realize that you enjoyed it."

"I don't," Sherlock protested.

"Yeah, you do," John said, and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock realized mid-purr that John might have a point. It did feel nice, having John this close to them. Not minding that it was _Sherlock_ that he was getting close to.

"You may continue," Sherlock said, trying to sound imperious, but it lost some of its levity when John rubbed his fingers behind Sherlock's ear and they made another soft noise and leaned into John's hand.

It took them far too long to realize that John enjoyed it as much as they did. But Sherlock was so distracted by the novel idea of _them_ liking it that it took them awhile to notice.

John seemed to have come to the conclusion that Sherlock liked cuddling, and often employed it when they were watching TV together. Sherlock did like it, but they would have never thought that John enjoyed it, too.

They also never would have acted on the urge to cuddle if John hadn't done so first.

Cuddling was brilliant. The next time they felt another wave of gender dysphoria coming on, they found John and slumped over into his lap, and he automatically put his hand in their hair.

Sherlock thought that was the end of it and that life could go on as usual.

Then, the video resurfaced, and it was tagged 'Sherlock Holmes.'


	2. Lady Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes the Yard by storm - you know what they say about women scorned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second part of the gift that I've made for [daydraws](http://daydraws.tumblr.com) for the Johnlockgift exchange.
> 
> I'm great with Canadian law, but I have a limited grasp on other countries' laws, so hopefully I didn't mess up on that.
> 
> Cheers!

Sherlock found it when they were on John's blog.

A first, they just thought it was a spam link and were about to tell John to delete it. But the comment with the link made them stall.

'Lady detective lays into lads giving her mouthy comments.'

With some trepidation, Sherlock clicked on the link. They couldn't help but feel a small shiver of satisfaction at being called 'her,' even if it was a sarcastic or ironic remark. They would take their gender identity validation where they could get it.

It was just as bad as they had feared.

Whoever had taken the video had obviously not taken any pains to try and edit it later, because they could hear traffic in the background, the camera wobbled alarmingly and got wide shots of others in the area and they could specifically hear the owner of the video recorder on the film.

_"Isn't that – "_

_"Nah, it ain't."_

_"It is, it has to be. Sherlock Holmes!"_

The video hadn't started because of the fight at all. Two girls with a camera phone just wanted proof that Sherlock Holmes, infamous detective, liked dressing like a woman.

On the screen, the men began harassing Sherlock. In the background, there were comments from bystanders, including the camera holder.

_"That's just rude."_

_"Bloke's got a point. Harassment isn't a compliment!"_

_"Tranny deserves it. Good on 'em."_

Of course, then Sherlock had broken the idiot's arm, and the bystanders all backed away quickly, because most people were alarmed by the idea that someone dressed up like a woman could still do a lot of damage.

The camera kept going, and it caught Lestrade arriving on the scene.

" _Sherlock_ ," Camera-Lestrade said, confirming to all those watching that it was, in fact, Sherlock Holmes in a dress they were all watching.

Sherlock closed the laptop and hung their head. Lestrade hadn't actually called since the incident, and Sherlock had tried not to care; had a lot of clients from the blog with cases. But the fact that someone who used to respect them when he thought they were a man suddenly did an about turn when exposed to Sherlock's true gender identity still stung.

This, above anything else, was why Sherlock hadn't told John anything.

They were afraid that John would react badly. Leaving was the worst option, but by no means the only bad option available. He could also refuse to believe Sherlock and call them a cross-dresser, refuse to call Sherlock by their preferred pronouns or try and talk Sherlock out of being genderfluid.

Sherlock went to check on the other pages to see if any of the others had the same link. All of them did, and Sherlock was about to hack into John's blog and delete all the comments before John saw them, when he realized that the first link they'd found had disappeared.

As they clicked through the pages of John's blog, one comment after another disappeared without Sherlock's intervention.

There were two options.

Mycroft was being a nosy, over-protective git again.

John was on his blog during his lunch break and had found the comments.

Sherlock could only hold out hope that if it had been John, he hadn't actually clicked on the link and just thought that they were spam comments. John's blog got a lot of those lately, since his blog had picked up in popularity.

Sherlock dreaded John's arrival home.

What if John had seen them?

Sherlock waited all afternoon, unable to work on experiments or do anything else useful. No one liked Sherlock when they all thought they were male. Being some sort of hybrid-gender freak would surely drive away everyone. Even dependable Lestrade had backed off, leaving Sherlock in a lurch.

Still feeling out of sorts, Sherlock looked up the video on the internet.

God, it was everywhere. Somewhere along the lines, it had gone viral, and Sherlock, cooped up in the flat, and pointedly not looking at the internet, hadn't noticed.

It was everywhere. The Youtube video had close to ninety thousand hits already. Half of London probably knew about this.

Sherlock hurriedly logged into several different newspapers around London, searching their own name. It was just as bad as they'd imagined. 

Most of them were recent articles, having just come out a couple of hours ago.

They checked their website, and the stupid link was all over that as well. Sherlock went about deleting them, when it suddenly occured to them that if they had found their website, then why hadn't anyone called them yet? Their number was right there at the top of the page!

And then Sherlock remembered.

Dropped mobile in a puddle on Sunday, stuck it in a bag of rice. Forgotten about it.

Sherlock found their phone in the cupboard and turned it back on. It practically exploded with text and voicemail alerts, and all Sherlock could do was stare at it in horror for a few minutes.

Sherlock texted Mycroft first.

_Did you delete the comments on John's blog? SH_

**No. John did.**

Damn.

Of course, most of the texts and voicemails were from people from various newspapers trying to get a statement from them.

A whole bunch of them were from Lestrade.

Oh.

 _That's_ why they hadn't received any texts from Lestrade. Sherlock listened through all the voicemails sheepishly, waiting until they found the voicemail from Lestrade.

_"Listen, Sherlock, I've been a right dick about this whole thing. Sally had a talk with me – yes, I know you don't like Sally. Funny, for once it's her giving me the sensitivity lecture. Look, I'm sorry, will you please just answer my texts?"_

Lestrade's texts mostly said variations on "I'm sorry" and "please answer me."

So Sherlock called him.

"Sherlock, I've been trying to get ahold of you for bloody days!" Lestrade admonished as soon as he picked up.

"You could have popped round," Sherlock said, emphasizing the 'p' in 'popped.'

"I didn't know if you wanted me around," Lestrade said. "We had a bloody big murder case while you were MIA, and it's still not solved. Will you please come?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "On my way."

On the way to the Yard with the fastest and most daredevil cab driver in London, Sherlock texted John. Not about the link, but about the case.

_At Scotland Yard. Case. SH_

**No crime scene?**

_No, all evidence at the Yard. SH_

**We missed out on a crime scene? Important?**

_Murder. SH_

**I'm coming down.**

Sherlock arrived at Scotland Yard, sweeping into the precinct like they owned the place, as usual. They were drawing a lot more stares than normally, and Sherlock could only assume that they'd seen the blasted video.

Did they really have nothing better to look at?

Sherlock made it to Lestrade's office without incident. Sally and Lestrade were there waiting for them, and Sherlock immediately demanded to see the evidence.

"Look, Sherlock, before we do anything else, I've got to say," Lestrade said. "I'm sorry. I reacted like a twit. I was just confused about it, but it's no excuse for acting that way. Sally informs me that I need to ask you a couple questions – um, what were they..."

"Preferred pronouns," Sally reminded him with an eyeroll.

"Right," Lestrade said.

"They/their pronouns," Sherlock said carefully, looking back and forth between them.

"And do you mind if we still call you 'Sherlock,'" Lestrade said. "I mean, do you have something else you would like to be called instead?"

He looked nervous, and Sherlock knew that as well-meaning as Lestrade was, he would probably mess up on Sherlock's pronouns for a while, and Sally would correct him. They could just imagine it. What he was most worried about was that Sherlock wanted to be called 'Shirley' or some other variation on their given name.

"No, Sherlock is fine," Sherlock said. They didn't really consider their name masculine or feminine, mostly because no one else they had ever heard of had their name. It was unique.

"Thank God, let's get on with it then," Lestrade said.

"Wait," Sally said, and then went to the coatstand in the corner, retrieving a garment bag.

Oh. Their clothes, the ones they had left behind that day. Sherlock met Sally's eyes and nodded slightly, because they could already tell that Sally had gotten their clothes washed and dry cleaned.

As they were going toward the evidence room, several of the other officers in NYS kept looking at them, whispering to their partners or others around them.

"We're having a meeting in about ten minutes," Lestrade said, looking back at Sherlock. "I didn't want to get you too worked up, but it looks like a serial killer."

Sherlock looked up, eyes wide.

"Serial killer?" they asked in a soft voice.

"Yep, looks like. Only one victim so far, but the method... it looks like the set-up for a pattern killing. You know what I mean."

"I do," Sherlock said and grinned.

Lestrade showed Sherlock some of the crime scene photos, and Sherlock conceded that Anderson was getting better at getting the important information in his shots.

As other homicide investigations officers started gathering for the meeting, they kept glancing at Sherlock, and they could hear the whispers of doubt. They thought that Sherlock was somehow less capable now that everyone had seen them dressed as a woman.

Sherlock was already outed.

They had a feeling in their chest, a hot, tight feeling. Not the kind that was afraid and sad, it was angry and vindicated. Sherlock was just as intelligent and capable as they had always been, gender identity nonewithstanding. They would show them.

They looked down at the garment bag in their hand.

They would really show them.

They looked at Sally. "Do you have eyeliner that I could borrow."

Sally seemed to catch on to their thought process and nodded.

It took far less time to get into their feminine clothes than usual. Sherlock generally took at least two hours to get ready. They didn't have that kind of time right now. Clothes on, boots zipped up, all Sherlock could do was hastily apply some mascara and black eyeliner. All the other colours Sally had were for dark-complexioned skin, the exact opposite of Sherlock's.

Sherlock wet their hands under the tap and quickly rearranged their hair. Sally had lent them some hairspray, and hopefully it would hold for the length of the meeting.

Taking a deep breath and squaring their shoulders for confidence, Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom, head raised high.

And nearly walked straight into John.

Sherlock's eyes widened, and for a moment, they nearly panicked. They had completely forgotten they'd told John to come down to the Yard. They'd forgotten everything except showing everyone that they were still the same, still Sherlock Holmes, never mind their gender.

Sherlock supposed that included John.

John's eyes were wide, taking in Sherlock's appearance. Sherlock wanted to look at the ground and hide from John's gaze, because they didn't feel ready for this yet. But John smiled gently.

"The meeting is starting now," John said softly.

"Yes," Sherlock said, hesitating.

"I did see the video," John confirmed, somehow knowing what Sherlock was wondering.

"Yes," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," John said firmly. "When I said that everything was fine... I really did mean that, you know? It's all fine. I promise."

Sherlock nodded, throat getting tight.

John reached out, squeezed one of Sherlock's hands, and let it go again. With a tilt of his head, he indicated they were needed in the meeting room. They walked there together, side by side, as it always was.

Sherlock walked into the room like a blaze of light and was the centre of attention immediately. Not because they were dressed as a woman. Because they were brilliant, and because they were telling the officers exactly what they needed to know to find the killer.

Not a single person asked why Sherlock was dressed like a woman. No one laughed. No one ignored them just because they were different.

It helped that Lestrade, Sally and John were all standing up at the front of the room, interacting with them like there was nothing the matter.

By the time the meeting finished, night had fallen, and several officers were being sent on stakeout after what Sherlock had said. Sherlock would normally be biting at the bit to go out with them, but one look at John's face said they needed to talk.

Sherlock got them a cab. Their feminine clothing was no impediment to their usual skill of getting a cab almost immediately. It was silent in the cab on the way home, but Sherlock was nervous. They didn't know what to expect.

John said everything was okay. It would be fine. All fine.

John reached over and took their hand halfway through the cab ride, closing his fingers around theirs gently. Sherlock blushed and looked away, out the cab window. This was confusing. Now that they were presenting as feminine, John's gestures suddenly seemed romantic. Had these gestures always been that way, or was it just because Sherlock was dressed as a woman? And if that was the case, was it all in John's head, or in Sherlock's?

They stopped to pick up Chinese and walked the rest of the way home. Cautiously, Sherlock put their hand in the crook of John's elbow, and John smiled up at them. Heart pounding, Sherlock clutched at John's arm the rest of the way home. They probably held on too hard, but John didn't seem to mind at all.

They ate their Chinese and chatted about the case. Sherlock thought they sounded awkward, although it was mostly because they were still dressed as a woman. Their hair was getting a bit frizzy now, but John hadn't noticed.

Finally, after John had done the washing up and sat back down on the couch, Sherlock next to them, that Sherlock dared to ask what had been on their mind.

"It's not just because I'm dressed like a girl, is it?" Sherlock asked desperately, clutching their hands together.

John shifted closer and put one warm hand overtop of Sherlock's.

"No," he whispered. "No, it's not."

"So all these gestures, they were always romantic, and I'm just an idiot," Sherlock said.

John smiled. "I guess I wasn't clear enough."

Sherlock blushed. "It probably was. I just didn't think... well, you know John, no one likes me. It's not as if... my automatic conclusion would be that _you_ like me _that_ way."

"I should have realized I needed to be more clear," John said. "But I was nervous. I didn't think you liked me that way. I was being a bit more subtle than normally."

"John, you know I'm still a man sometimes, right?" Sherlock asked.

John liked women, didn't he? What if he only liked Sherlock half the time?

"Sherlock, I think you had better explain exactly what you mean. Just to clear up any confusion. I don't think we should have any misunderstandings when it comes to this."

"Misunderstandings?" Sherlock asked, throat seizing up.

John squeezed their hands reassuringly. "Sherlock. I have feelings for you. Very strong, romantic and sexual feelings. No matter what the explanation is. I'm bisexual, and to me, your gender identity and expression is less important than the fact that it's _you_. I will respect either or, whatever you like. But it's a mad genius detective I fell head over heels for. Just so you know."

"How do you know the difference between gender identity and expression?" asked Sherlock accusingly, because of all the things they'd been worried about, it was that John wouldn't understand the explanation.

"I'm a doctor," John said patiently. "It came up at one of the more recent conferences. Eye-opening to say the least, but to be treated very seriously, especially if those who are trans are being mistreated by the medical community."

"So. You like... me. Just who I am. And it's all fine," Sherlock said, finally daring to look up at John's face.

"All fine," John promised.

Sherlock explained. John nodded along, and Sherlock could see him making mental notes on the things they were saying.

Sherlock was so happy. They didn't understand the bursting feeling inside their chest until it was overflowing, overwhelming and choking up their throat with emotion. They tried to turn away from John and hide the strangely joyous tears that were leaking out of their eyes.

John turned their head gently, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

And suddenly, Sherlock realized that now was one of those moments.

They managed to close their eyes just in time, and then John was kissing them.

Sherlock leaned into it, probably too hard again, but they couldn't help it. It was all new and brilliant, the way the simple slide of skin and the touch of stubble against Sherlock's face could send tingles racing through them. Their heart was pounding, too hard to breathe properly.

Sherlock drew back, blinking hard.

"Was that alright?" John asked, smiling.

Sherlock nodded. "Can I...?"

John leaned back in. Their mouths touched, and Sherlock trembled, their hands reaching forward to rest on John's thighs. His legs were solid and warm under their palms, and his muscles flexed at their touch.

As if Sherlock's touch was a cue, John buried his fingers in Sherlock's hair, and the kiss got... _deeper_. Wetter. Sherlock gasped, and suddenly John's tongue was parting their lips and tracing their mouth. Sherlock shivered again, and went completely boneless, their arms semi-collapsing beneath them.

John followed them down, shifting to get into a better position. It was a bit cramped, but Sherlock didn't care, squirming closer, pulling John closer by the folds of his jumper.

Somehow, with a lot of maneuvering, they ended up on their back on the sofa with John on top of them. Since that was exactly where Sherlock wanted him, they hummed happily as John moved down to start kissing his way down their neck.

 _Oh_. Sherlock gasped in surprise, back arching involuntarily. Apparently their neck was far more sensitive than they'd first thought. They could feel John grinning against their neck, and then he sucked another wet kiss into their skin, right above their collarbone.

Sherlock could feel something tightening in their abdomen, settling into a hot ache that urged Sherlock to get out of their clothes and have John touch their body all over. Sitting up momentarily, Sherlock struggled to get the cardigan off, throwing it over the edge of the couch.

John smiled, biting at his bottom lip.

His fingers toyed with the hem of Sherlock's shirt, and Sherlock raised their arms so that John could pull it off over their head. John looped his arms around Sherlock's waist and pulled them closer, kissing the side of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock leaned in again helplessly, and John kissed them again, mouth opening easily against Sherlock's.

John expertly reached around to unhook their bra, discarding that over the side of the couch at the same time as kissing Sherlock breathless.

One of John's fingers rubbed at Sherlock's nipple, and Sherlock whined against John's mouth. Apparently everything was more sensitive and not just their neck.

Sherlock's hands scrabbled at John's jumper. It wasn't fair that John still had this on when they wanted to feel all his skin against theirs. John broke the kiss in order to hurriedly strip off his jumper.

He looked at Sherlock, and they felt their heart skip a beat as John gazed at them, looking nothing short of amazed that Sherlock was doing this with him.

"You..." John cleared his throat and tried again. Softly, he said, "You're beautiful."

Sherlock felt their mouth turning up in a smile. John took their face in his hands and kissed them again.

"Do you mind if I...?" John murmured against their mouth, hands drifting down to the waistband of Sherlock's skirt.

Sherlock didn't mind at all, but they had to sit upright in order to get the zip undone. John giggled as Sherlock wiggled to get out of it, and reached to help. Sherlock didn't know what to expect from this. They'd thought that sex was a more serious matter, a situation with more gravity than this, but John's light-hearted grin as he untangled Sherlock's legs from the skirt was the best sight in the world.

Sherlock blushed as John took in their black, lacy knickers. They had the beginnings of an erection, and it was tenting the delicate fabric obscenely.

"God, Sherlock," John groaned, leaning his head against their collarbone momentarily, and Sherlock revelled in the softness of his hair against their skin. "Can I take you to bed? Please."

Sherlock nodded and then squeaked as John picked them up, hoisting them up so that their legs were around his waist, and then carried them all the way to their bedroom. Sherlock's stomach lurched as they felt John's skin all along theirs, his chest pressed to Sherlock's abdomen. The hair on his chest was prickly.

Sherlock sprawled across the bed as John quickly unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned his jeans, and shoved his jeans and pants down as one. His hard length bobbed between his legs as he clambered on to the bed after Sherlock.

Sherlock stared.

They'd seen porn before. And they'd had an idea of what John's cock might look like when erect, but this surpassed all their imagination could come up with.

Sherlock was so enthralled that they hardly noticed as John began mouthing his way down Sherlock's stomach until he reached the soft skin right above the hemline of the knickers, and then Sherlock bucked up in surprised pleasure. John grinned again and nuzzled at Sherlock's erection through their knickers.

Sherlock whined, overcome with pleasure, as John pushed their knees up and lapped at the head of Sherlock's cock through their knickers.

"Off," Sherlock said, and John complied.

Sherlock shivered as John looked at them. It was a complicated emotion they had right now, somewhere between aching for John to be inside them, and a strange sense of loss, because John would never be inside them in that particular way.

Then John buried his nose in the crease of Sherlock's groin and mouthed his way up Sherlock's length. Sherlock groaned and spread their knees apart further.

"Lube?" John asked, voice husky.

Sherlock waved a hand at their bedside table, so wracked with pleasure that they couldn't get their mouth to work.

A moment later a slick finger circled their hole. Sherlock gasped and tried to push back against it.

"Is this okay?" John asked, pressing at the furled muscle, but not pushing in.

"Please, yes," Sherlock said.

Sherlock groaned loudly, fingers digging into the bedsheets as John's finger slid inside them. His deft surgeon's fingers found the exact spot that would bring them the most pleasure and pressed down on it firmly. Sherlock threw their head back and cried out.

Sherlock still felt empty, and even though John couldn't fill them in the exact way they wanted, maybe this would be enough.

"John, please. I want you inside me," Sherlock said, straining to push back against John's fingers.

"Okay," John said softly. "Okay. Do you have a condom?"

"It's okay," Sherlock said. "I'm clean. Got checked after rehab."

"How long has it been since you last...?"

"Never," Sherlock said, not understanding the issue. Would John just fuck them already?

"Never?" John asked, eyebrows raising. "Have you... are you a virgin?"

"Yes. I don't see what that has to do with anything," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock!" John said. "It's kind of important to mention it."

"Not to me," Sherlock said rebelliously. "Anyway, you're the only person I've ever felt like having sex with, and it was lovely, right until this point."

John sighed. "Okay, so you're clean."

"And so are you, I know. I saw your test results," Sherlock said. "I can't get pregnant, John. It's fine."

"Why are you so adamant on not using a condom?" John asked seriously.

Sherlock blushed and looked away. "I... I wanted to..."

They tugged John's head down so that they could whisper in his ear. It felt more like a secret this way, never mind that no one else was here.

"I wanted to feel you come inside me," Sherlock admitted.

"God, you're going to be the death of me," John said, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

Then, his fingers pushed back inside them, stretching them out to get them ready for John's cock. Sherlock mewled and spread their legs, urging John on. Their erection, which had flagged a bit at the previous conversation, jerked back to full hardness.

Sherlock was drenched in sweat and panting hard by the time John deemed they were ready to have his cock inside them. Their insides absolutely ached with need.

John took a deep breath and let out a panting curse as he finally pushed inside Sherlock's tight body. That was it. Sherlock's mind went to fragments at the feeling of having John so deep inside them, and all that mattered was having more of that glorious stretch.

"Oh..." John said next to their ear. "You're brilliant."

And then he was moving, and Sherlock lost track of everything. Vaguely, they were aware of clutching at whatever part of John they could reach and wrapping their legs up high around his waist. But the feeling that really mattered was when John stiffened and shuddered above them, and a moment later, they felt John's hot release inside them. Sherlock couldn't hold on after that, crying out and coming all over their stomach, trembling like a leaf.

John held onto them as their breathing calmed down, spooned up behind them on Sherlock's bed. John fell asleep with his head against Sherlock's shoulderblade.

Sherlock had never slept with someone else in their bed before.

It was much nicer than imagined.

OOooOO

The next morning when John woke up, he made them bacon and eggs. He kissed Sherlock as he handed them their tea, and read the newspaper with his feet tangled up with theirs. He told them not to leave their experiments in the fridge, and then he went to work.

Sherlock was wearing their blue dressing gown today, and that was still fine. John told them that it didn't matter if they were presenting as male or female, because he loved them either way.

Loved. Them.

It was the kind of thing that just sort of crept up on them and only announced itself after a prolonged stay. Love was the right word, as it turned out. They weren't even surprised when John said it, and John hadn't been either. It was something that had lived with them for long enough that it had become familiar, and only needed naming.

Sherlock went into the Yard to look at cold cases to keep themselves busy.

Anderson tried to say something snide, and Sally punched him in the arm.

Lestrade asked awkwardly if they would still be wearing ladies' clothes into the precinct sometimes, and Sherlock said that they'd think about it.

Today was the hate crime hearing, and Sherlock felt like maybe they should have told John about it. They hadn't wanted him to worry, because he was at work and couldn't be at the hearing. But still, maybe they should have said something, for their own sake.

There was substantial evidence that this was a hate crime, especially as the whole thing had been caught on camera. They tried to claim excessive force on Sherlock's part, saying that Sherlock's reaction had been too much.

Mycroft had gotten Sherlock the best lawyer in England.

Past cases of violent hate crimes towards trans women had been brought up. Precedence for the severity of injury to the victim had also been reviewed. Sherlock's lawyer argued that Sherlock had been perfectly right to incapacitate their attackers.

Sherlock honestly wasn't certain that their attackers wouldn't be acquitted. 

By the time the hearing was over, Sherlock could feel the sweat sticking their shirt to their back. They were going to have another trial, but at least it hadn't been dismissed. They would take their victories where they could get them. There were so few of them for trans people that any progress was positive. Still. There were people out there who thought Sherlock would deserve to be violently beaten just for their identity. They were very publicly out, and that was a major concern on their part.

They took a deep breath and headed home. John texted them while they were on the Tube and asked them to pick up some milk. Maybe Sherlock actually would, for once.

They had John. John would never let anything happen to Sherlock, not when he could do something about it. They were far from helpless in any case.

All they could really do was handle each day as it came.

They were lucky. They had friends in the NSY and a brother in the government. And they had a dauntless ex-army captain.

For now, they were going to go home and watch crap telly while curled up on the couch with John. Maybe they could convince John to have sex again, since it had worked out so well the night before.

As soon as they walked in the door, John came over to greet them with a smile and a kiss.

"Hey," John said, and Sherlock revelled in John's warmth all along their side.

"Hey," Sherlock said, and rested their head against John's.

Of all the possible outcomes of this experience, this was the best one, by far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](http://testosterone-tea.tumblr.com/)
> 
> My [giveaway policy](http://testosterone-tea.tumblr.com/giveaways)


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